


he is not dead (he is just away)

by shadowlancer_95



Series: The Haunting of Hill House - AUs [1]
Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018), The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson
Genre: 1x08 Silence Lay Steadily, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Episode Tag, Gen, Hugh Crain is Best Dad, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Sacrifice, Steve Crain Defense Squad, Steve is a good brother, but he tries his best, fight me, he's also flawed guys, he's an asshole at times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 12:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19830052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowlancer_95/pseuds/shadowlancer_95
Summary: “Let them go.” He repeats, begging, praying that it would be enough.His mother smiles at him, all sharp edges and lips stretched too wide.“You’ll stay with me?” she asks.He nods, and she draws him in.Steve closes his eyes.He feels icy fingers against his back, barely touching but pushing all the same, and he allows his mother to pull him forward.Or,Things go differently at the Hill House.





	he is not dead (he is just away)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, so guess who just binged the Haunting of Hill House? I've been putting this off because I've heard how good it is and I didn't want to finish this so quickly, but life is easy when you have the 'next' button on Netflix I guess. 
> 
> I love all the Crains but especially Steve and Nell. Nell because honestly, you have to be some kind of heartless to dislike her, and Steve because he is just the type of character I would fall in love with. I don't care what haters out there say, Steve remains my favorite character in the entire show. The entire family is flawed and dysfunctional, but they still care about each other, that's the point. 
> 
> Either way, I went on a reading spree on AO3, and honestly there are way too little stories for this fandom. So I thought I'd contribute to it. This is inspired by all the Steve-centric fic I've read in one night. 
> 
> This is an AU of the season finale, and therefore contains SPOILERS, though I honestly think everyone has watched it already. 
> 
> Please enjoy the fic and leave a review on your way out!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own THoHH unfortunately.

The tapping sound echoes in the empty spaces of the House, reverberating within his skull like a pounding drum, drawing his attention. He _knows_ he needs to follow his dad, knows that Luke is in here somewhere, likely dead or dying and he _needs_ to get to his little brother _now_ , but he can’t shake off the haze that’s descended on his mind. His eyes fixates on the back of the tall man, drifting slowly in the dark hallway, his cane rhythmically striking the carpeted ground. It is a familiar beat, one he’s always heard as a kid, and he thinks of how his father had said that he’d always been seeing ghosts in Hill House, and finds the sudden urge to laugh.

(He’d spent the better part of two decades studiously denying that the house was haunted when in fact he’d seen the ghosts himself, had interacted with them as though they were part of the living instead of the spectres they were.)

Steve shifts on his feet, his body angling towards the tall man just a fraction – and suddenly he takes a step, two, until he finds himself on the second floor, blinking in confusion. He feels himself move, feels as though he’s a passenger in his own body, like something else is controlling his movements, bringing him closer to the cluster of rooms that once belonged to them. There is a thought, at the back of his mind, that tells him to stop, to turn around and find his father. He’s here for a reason, though that reason is slowly slipping from his grasp like a kite without its tether.

He can’t bring himself to care by the time his feet have brought him to his mother’s room.

Steve reaches out a hand, hesitating millimeters before his fingers touch the cold, metal knob. Something that sounds like his sister – like sweet, baby Nell – screams in the distance, but there is a coldness at the back of his neck that feels like fingers _(claws_ ) digging deep into flesh and bone, and he grasps the doorknob and _twists_.

Soft rays of sunlight greet him, and he looks around the decorated room in confusion.

“Stevie.”

He turns, eyes widening. His mother sat on the edge of her bed, clad in a crimson dress that spilled onto the floor carelessly, her curls cascading in gentle waves down her shoulders. She smiles at him, hands clasped in her lap.

“Mom?” he choked, stumbling forward.

Olivia Crain opens her arms, a welcome and an invitation both at once. “Come here Steve.” She beckons.

Whatever resolve he had left crumbled to fine ash.

Steve lurched forward unsteadily, collapsing to his knees in front of his mother. She is almost like he remembers her, a sweet smile always on her face even when she was in pain, her voice never raised despite the annoyance and irritation he knows she must feel. His hands hover over her, afraid that if he reached out, she would vanish.

She smiled and closed her fingers around his wrists.

He gasped at the contact, feeling his eyes burn with tears. “ _Mom_.” He whispers, feeling all of eleven years old again.

He feels the walls he’d been building since that night come crumbling down like Jericho, the dams he’d built up shattering into tiny little fragments. He buries his face in her dress, clinging onto her like a lifeline as his entire world collapsed on itself.

There is an unearthly wail in the background, the kind that sounded like it belonged to someone who had been thoroughly broken and it took him awhile to realize that it was coming from him – that he was sobbing and repeating the words ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ over and over and _over_ again like some mantra as though it made a difference.  
  
As though apologizing made up for all the _shit_ he’d put his siblings through, for leaving Shirley to carry the responsibilities of the family despite it being _his_ job and driving her away with every action he committed, for being skeptical about Theo’s abilities despite having witnessed it first-hand, never really reaching out to her, for failing to try harder with Luke – Luke who needed his help and who only ever wanted someone to believe in him and yet he couldn’t even just do that, no he got tired of his brother’s repeated relapses and his faith in him dwindled.  
  
As though apologizing made up for driving Nell to _suicide_.  
  
He remembered being surprised when she stood up at his reading, his surprise souring quickly into irritation and resentment as she started to speak. He remembered her broken tone, how she’d hurled the fragments of herself in hopes that he would cut himself on their sharp edges and he remembered how quick he was in shutting her up.

He’d called her an embarrassment.

What kind of _brother_ did that? What kind of older brother did _that_?

_“I won’t let anything happen to her, to any of you, because that’s what older brothers do, it’s what they teach you in Older Sibling School.”_

He’d said that once hadn’t he? What a joke. Nell was dead because he refused to listen to her, his family was in shambles because he couldn’t do anything right, because he broke everything he touched – Leigh, _god_ , Leigh didn’t deserve a husband like him – and his dad, his dad finally explaining everything and it made him feel like shit for treating his dad the way he did all those years.

_I was supposed to protect them_. He thought, curling further into his mother’s lap, her hands gently running through his hair, the motion soothing the bitter tang of regret somewhat. 

“It’s my job to protect them.” He whispered, the words cutting through the silence.

“But you haven’t done a good job of that have you sweetheart?”

The voice is soft, gentle despite the cruelty hidden in the words. It is melodic, familiar, and he turns – reluctantly, but unable to resist the pull – meeting his mother’s kind eyes and warm smile. It feels nostalgic, comforting, like a home-cooked meal at the end of a harrowing day. She reaches out a hand to brush a strand of his hair – which had flopped in front of his face messily – back, her touch leaving an icy trail on his skin. He leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her and shuddered as she tightened her grip on him in return. There was a nagging feeling at the back of his head, one that told him to get out, but –

“I tried,” he breathed, “I tried to keep them safe. I tried to protect them.”

“Sometimes even your best is not enough sweetie,” his mom murmurs, all the wrong words in the right tone and it makes him _so_ confused. “You couldn’t do anything but hurt them even when you tried to protect them, so why don’t you take a rest? Come home?”

Steve tries to think, but his mind is swirling with thoughts and memories and emotion – he can’t think anymore. He doesn’t want to. He’s _tired_.

“Hush now, you’ve done your best, but they don’t _want_ you there. You tried Stevie, but you break everything you touch, so unlike your father.” His mother laughs, a wind chime lost in the breeze.

He thinks he should be afraid, he thinks that he should be running away, that there’s something terribly wrong –

But everything feels so _right_. Because his mother is right, as she always is. He is poison to everything he touches – his marriage, his family, his siblings, his dad. The poison spreads like the black mold in the basement, turning everything it touched into decay and rot.

He should go away, leave where no one can follow. Maybe then he can protect what’s left of his siblings instead of breaking and breaking and _breaking_ their family into tiny little pieces –

His eyes slip shut, and he sinks further into his mother’s embrace, feeling a sense of calm and peace wash over him.

It feels like coming home.

(He doesn’t see the specter hovering beside his mother, Poppy Hill’s once luscious lips - now rotten and decaying - curved into a wicked smile as she reached a hand towards him.)

“ _Steve_!”

He’s wrenched away from that warmth in a split second, torn from his mother’s embrace violently as someone threw him to the ground, knocking the air out of him. He had a moment to feel a torrent of emotions – rage, disbelief, betrayal – before he registered the person standing in front of him.

_Nell_? He mouths, confusion suffocating all other thoughts.

His sister – a fierce gleam in her eyes so unlike soft, gentle Nell – stood in front of him, hands outstretched with her back to him. Steve looks around his sister, meeting Olivia’s eyes and reaches out for her, just as she lunged towards him. His sister grabs their mother around the middle and turns to him with frantic energy, “Go!” she yells, and Steve stumbles back, hurt and confused and torn between listening to his sister and his instincts or reaching back for his mother.

A hand grabbed his and made the decision for him.

The small figure tugged and Steve went, flying down the hallway and all but tumbling down the stairs. He stops short of the huge double doors and yanks his hand away, looking at the child who had pulled him out of the room (away from his mother).

The child with blond hair and blue eyes as bright as marbles stared back up at him. Her face is familiar. He thinks of Luke’s imaginary friend and the child he’d brought over that one fateful night and he knows who this is.

“Abigail.”

She doesn’t say a word, merely looks at him, tugging him insistently towards the double doors. 

He digs his heels in, shaking his head. The fog is slowly clearing, but he knows instinctively that he cannot leave, that he still has unfinished business in the house.

His sister appears just as he finishes prying his hand away from the little girl, giving her an apologetic glance.

“Don’t, Steve.” Nell says, almost like a plea.

He shivers, feeling cold all of a sudden, the pretense of warmth that had previously been there suddenly stripped away, leaving behind a chill in his very soul that spread to every corner. He fell to his knees, gasping for air.

A beige colored dress sways into his vision, and he follows the trail upwards, until he’s looking up at his sister, clad in her wedding dress with a sad smile on her face. She reaches a hand out to him, and he takes it, startling at the warmth that emanated from it.

“ _No_!” someone shrieked.

The voice, not his, not Nell’s echoes around the house, seemingly coming from within and without. He turns his head, breaths coming in sharp pants as specters start to gather – on the stairs, in the hallways, at the door – his world spinning sharply on its axis –

Two fingers touch his forehead, grounding him. He fixes his eyes on Nell, who smiles up at him again – when had he gotten to his feet? – pulling him closer to the main doors.

“ _Go_.” She whispers.

“No,” he replies, stopping her in her tracks, “They’re still up there.”

Nell looks up at him with so much sorrow that he wants to retract his statement, wants to leave the house and never look back. But he _can’t_ , because the rest of his family is still up there, trapped in the Red Room. Luke is up there, possibly dying or dead, he doesn’t know. Shirley and Theo are equally trapped, having come after them despite Dad’s words to stay put.

_Dad_.

Steve looks at his younger sister and feels regret burn fiercely in his chest. For so long he’d dismissed her words, called her delusional when he should have believed her, made her feel like she couldn’t come to him for help when he was supposed to be her safe harbor. He’d failed to be the big brother he should have been and now she was _dead_ , trapped in this house like the Hills, like all the other ghosts in here. Like his mother. He couldn’t save her anymore, but he could still save what was left of his family.

“Let me save them Nell.” He whispered.

Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “You can’t go back if you stay Steve.”

He gave her a smile of his own, something like peace settling over his shoulders. “I couldn’t save you,” he confessed, reaching out to gently brush his knuckles across her cheek, “And I know it’s too late, but I’m sorry for not believing you, for not helping you when I could.”

“But you _did_.” She replies, grabbing his hand in hers, warm in a way his mother's hadn't been, “You looked out for me in the ways you knew – I can see that now. I don’t blame you Steve. You loved me, and I loved you, the rest is just confetti.”

He feels like crying himself, but he pushes the urge away, knowing that if he gives into the urge to break down once again, he would never be able to put himself together, and his family would be at the mercy of the House and its occupants. He had let that happen once already, and he couldn’t let it happen again, so he straightened up, took a deep breath, and gave Nell’s hand a tight squeeze.

With renewed purpose, he strode towards the spiraling staircase.

He climbs quickly, urgency nipping at his heels. He spies his dad on the floor and has a horrifying moment where he wonders if he’s too late, if the house already has them – but no, he could feel a pulse, strong and steady. Steve looks at the crimson door, starkly contrasted against the gloom of the entire house. It looked out of place, with its bright color and fresh wood where the paint should have long flaked away and the wood rotted with the elements. He remembers seeing Shirley and Nell both kneeling in front of it, trying to get it open and wishes he could tell them not to bother, wishes he could destroy the accursed door and the house it belonged to.

Steve is terrified beyond belief, his breaths come in short pants, his hands are shaking and his vision keeps flickering between the past and the present, overlaying each other until he didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. He thought of his siblings, locked in the Red Room while it slowly ate at them. He thought of his dad, who lay crumpled outside, having been attacked while trying to get to his children. He thought of his mom, who had slowly been corrupted by the house and none of them had ever seen it. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

Opening his eyes, Steve called out, “Mom?”

Time seemed to stop. It felt as though the house was holding its breath, the calm before the storm. He feels a presence behind him, and the familiar smell of his mother’s perfume wafted around him.

Steve turned, looking at the figure masquerading as his mother.

She smiles – the gesture so similar that it hurts – lifting her hand. Steve lifts his in return, suppressing a flinch at the chill of her palm, but wrapping his fingers around hers nonetheless. He lets her pull him closer, lets her run a hand alongside his cheek.

“You have to let them go.” He says quietly, forcing her to look him in the eye.

Her normally expressive brown eyes are cold now, the only thing that differed from the memory of his mother. The smile that twists her lips don’t meet her eyes, and Steve wonders how he failed to notice that before.

“They’re having a bad dream.” She murmurs, “Let them wake up.”

He shakes his head, stepping even closer to his mother, using his height to his advantage. “ _Mom_ , let them go.”

“I’ll be alone,” she cries, the tears spilling down her cheeks as she gripped his arm tighter. Steve feels his heart breaking. He knows this isn’t _his_ mother, that this shade mimicking her form is the voice of the house, but he can’t help it, he’s never been able to stand his mother crying.

Steve pulls her into a hug.

“I’ll stay with you, I _promise_. But you _have_ to let them go.”

She shakes her head, but her arms come up around him nonetheless, and despite himself, he feels trapped. “They’re unhappy Steve, they’re having a bad dream and I can wake them up. We can all be happy here, nothing can touch us.”

“Mom,” he says, moving back a little to frame her face with his hands, “Bad dreams are part of life, _you_ taught us that. We need to learn how to move on from it ourselves. _They_ need to learn how to move on from bad dreams.” He doesn’t miss the way her hands don’t leave him, or the way her fingers curled to the lapel of his suit.   
  
“Let them go.” He pleads, voice cracking.  
  
It’s the only thing he has left to give. He doesn’t know what else he can do to save a family he’d once sworn to protect and yet failed so terribly. He isn’t a good person, he knows that – he’s failed at being a proper son, a good husband and an older brother. But he could do this one thing for them, he could do one last thing for his little brother and his sisters – what was left of them. He could save them, instead of driving them all to their deaths.  
_  
_ “Let them _go_.” He repeats, begging, _praying_ that it would be enough.  
  
His mother smiles up at him, all sharp edges and lips stretched too wide.

“You’ll stay with me?” she asks.

He nods, and she draws him close.

Steve closes his eyes.

He feels icy fingers against his back, barely touching but pushing all the same, and he allows his mother to pull him forward.

* * *

Hugh drags himself to awareness the same time that the scarlet door cracks open.  
  
He feels someone shake him, and he groans and hisses at the ache in his lower back, thinking to himself that he’s too old for this.  
  
“Dad? Hey dad, we need to help the others.”  
  
Hugh opens his eyes to meet Steve’s, an inexplicable feeling of dread settling into his stomach like a pit. Something must have translated to his face because Steve gives him a smile. It was meant to be reassuring but the gesture missed the mark completely because Steve – his Stevie – hadn’t so much as smiled at him since he was a kid.  
  
But he was right either way, they _needed_ to help the others. He ignored the heavy stone sitting in his gut and grabbed his son’s arm and hauled himself to his feet, the two of them stumbling into the Red Room, the door swinging open easily.   
  
They met three startled looks.  
  
Theo and Shirley jumped into action almost immediately, quickly propping Luke up between them, his size giving them some trouble before Steve stepped forward to grab his brother, throwing one arm over his shoulder. Hugh felt the dread intensify as the sisters hurriedly reported that Luke needed a hospital. He gently took Luke’s other side from Theo, who gave them an odd look and ushered them out of the room to follow in Shirley’s footsteps, the second eldest having already scrambled down the stairs the moment she was free to run, making a beeline for the car where she’d left the keys in the ignition. Theo trailed behind them, keeping an eye out for any spectres that wanted to keep their hold on her family, but they stayed in the shadows, silently watching.  
  
Hugh and Steve carried Luke to the car, Shirley already starting the engine. They carefully put their current youngest in the backseat, Theo sliding in to let his head rest in her lap.  
  
He exchanged a glance with his eldest and stepped back from the car.  
  
“Get to the hospital,” he said, feeling like someone else was speaking, “Your brother and I have something to finish.”  
  
The sisters gave a token protest, but a groan from Luke reminded them that he’d been on the brink of death just minutes before. Hugh watched the car drive away, the rear lights fading into the fog. Then, he turned and went back into the house.  
  
Hugh closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, a wave of déjà vu crashing over him. Instead of running, he took slow, measured steps, Steve following silently behind him.  
  
He stopped short under the arch of the hallway, feeling the familiar sensation of horror and grief creep up his spine. Hugh took one slow step at a time, drawing nearer to the crumpled lump on the floor. His vision wavered, and for a moment, the dark shape was replaced with white. He cried out and ran forward, his knees crashing down onto hard concrete as he gathered the body in his arms. The vision of Olivia vanished between one blink and the next, and he found himself staring into Steve’s dull, blank eyes.  
  
He’d thought that finding Olivia broken at the bottom of the stairs had been bad enough – his entire world had been ripped out from under him with pale skin splattered with crimson – and seeing Nell in the coffin had almost done him in.  
  
But this?  
  
No parent should ever have to outlive their child, and Hugh had, in the span of three days, outlived _two_. He felt the tears come then, and curled over his son’s body, shaking with the effort to keep himself from falling apart because his other children were still _out there_ , he couldn’t just let them slip through his fingers like he did before.  
  
He felt more than heard the presence beside him, and expected the hand that rested on his shoulder.  
  
Hugh turned to meet Steve’s eyes.  
  
“Why?” He whispered, “Why did you do it?”  
  
Steve didn’t reply at first, just stared at him like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. His eldest turned away, seeing something Hugh couldn’t and didn’t want to see.   
  
“You told me once that I had to protect the others, because I was the oldest, and it was my job.”  
  
Hugh felt his heart stop. It wasn’t accusatory – unlike every other sentence that he’d shared with his eldest in the last two decades. No, this was a statement of fact, a recital of a memory, one that Hugh himself remembered. He was struck by the sudden flashback of introducing Steve to baby Shirley, and then to Theo and the twins. He remembered Steve’s awestruck expression and his firm declaration to protect them from monsters. Hugh remembered repeating the words his own father had spoken to him, telling Steve that it was his responsibility to look after them no matter what, because he was their big brother, and it was what they taught in Older Sibling School.

Hugh never regretted teaching his son that, but the guilt still weighed heavily now as his own words were thrown back at him.   
  
“You protected us for so long, and I blamed you without giving you a chance to explain.”  
  
“I don’t blame you.” Hugh replied, his voice barely above a whisper, struck with the sudden urge to explain himself to his son, to apologize for taking away his safety net and giving him no explanation for the freefall.   
  
“I do.” Steve answered, his lips twisting into a self-deprecating smile.  
  
“I’m meant to protect them, but look at what I’ve done. I let this family fall apart when I should’ve been making sure we stuck together. I drove the wedge between all of us.”  
  
“Steve...”

“I couldn’t protect Nell, but I can protect the rest of them.” Steve looked back at him, offering a wry smile, “Older Sibling School right?”  
  
Hugh let out a shuddering breath, wishing he wasn’t in this situation. “I would have taken your place,” he says, needing to get the words out, “I didn’t want this for you.”  
  
Steve nodded, crouching down to gently close his hand around his father’s arm. “I know.”  
  
Hugh remained where he was for a few more minutes, then gently laid his son’s body down on the ground. Steve helped him to his feet, gently nudging him towards the door.  
  
“Take care of them will you?” He asked softly, planting himself behind his dad as the ghosts started to gather. “We’ll take care of mom.”  
  
Hugh lifted his head, wishing he could turn around, but knowing that if he did the house would take the opportunity to snatch another meal, greedy as it was. He couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – disgrace Steve’s sacrifice like that. Hugh straightened his shoulder and lifted his head, his hands coming up to push the door outwards.   
  
Before he stepped over the threshold, he closed his eyes and said, “I’m proud of you, _both_ of you.”  
  
Then he stepped out into the night.

(Behind him, Steve smiled, reaching a hand to side, Nell stepped up beside him, entwining her fingers with his.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review on your way out! :)
> 
> Feel free to drop by my tumblr @shadowsofmoonracer or my writing blog @midnight-hallucinations :)


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